Midnight Fire
by Be Summer Rain
Summary: A lovely little piece of GH fluff.


_Disclaimer:  Yeah, yeah, yeah, it all belongs to JKR.  Sniffle._

_Dedication:  For Cryssa (PepsiAngel) as it is her 15th birthday._

_Happy birthday to you, _

_happy birthday to you!_

_Happy birthday dear Cryssa,_

_happy birthday to you!_

He wasn't quite sure when things had changed.

He'd always known she was there, of course; Ginny Weasley was not an easy one to ignore.

But he'd never really _known_ it.

Actually, all he knew at the moment was that she was smiling at him.  The long journey, the year ahead, the weight on his shoulders – all these flew up into the enchanted ceiling where they swirled with the red-streaked clouds and disappeared.

He had said something funny (although he couldn't, at the moment, recall exactly what), and she overheard him and laughed.

He had to quickly look down at his mashed potatoes to avoid grinning like an idiot back at her.

But she smiled at him, and he felt an odd lurching in his stomach he was quite sure had nothing to do with the peppermint humbug he had just eaten.

It was a delicate balance, he supposed later, to keep between the two extremes.  Part of him was trying to appear casual and relaxed, even suave, and the other part of him kept wondering just how well she'd fit into his arms.

He was walking into the common room a few evenings later when he saw her.  She was sitting cross-legged by the fire, intent on the book she was reading.  Cherry-colored hair fell into her face, and as she pushed her hair behind her ears impatiently, he suddenly couldn't distinguish between it and the fire behind her.

But then, Ginny was always hard to distinguish from fire.

She sensed his gaze, and looked up.  "Oh.  Hi," she said, toying with her hair again.

"Sorry," said Harry, who was quite alarmed to hear that his voice cracked with nervousness.  "I, er, didn't mean to disturb you."

"'S okay," said Ginny, stretching like a cat.  "This book is boring anyway."  She closed the cover of Ancient Magical Rites.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all.  In fact, please do, as it'll give me something to do besides read this stupid book."

"I know the feeling," said Harry, trying to sit down gracefully, but failing miserably.

Ginny giggled, then grew pensive.  "What're you doing walking around, anyway?  I mean, where're Ron and Hermione?"

"Oh," said Harry, looking around in mild surprise.  "They're gone.  Can't imagine how that might have happened."

Ginny coughed.  "Oh, no idea at all.  So, then, you were just walking around by yourself?"

Harry looked down.  "It helps," he mumbled.  Ginny understood, and didn't question him further.

"Sorry," she said.

"Oh, it's ok," said Harry, running a hand through his hair.  

"Are you all right?"  
Harry took a long time before answering.  "Yeah."

He wouldn't have told her that sitting next to her was what made him all right.

"I can't believe this is my fifth year," said Ginny, clearly anxious to change the subject.  "I remember being a first year and thinking the fifth years were _so old_."

"Ha," said Harry.  "Next year I'll be a seventh year, and then I won't be anything at all.  Now that's old."

"Not so much," said Ginny.  "You're only a year or so older than me."

A door slammed somewhere, sending a gust of cold air hurtling towards them.  They huddled closer to the fire.  Harry could feel the heat of it reflecting off his face.

He wondered why the curve of her cheek suddenly held such fascination.

"Stop looking at me like that," said Ginny quietly.

"Like what?"

"I don't know.  Just stop it."  Ginny turned back to the fire, a flush creeping up her cheeks.  Harry tentatively chewed on his lip.

"Sorry," he said, breaking the silence that had settled over them.

"Don't be."

"But – but I thought –"

"I know.  It's just – I don't want –"

"Articulate, aren't we," said Harry, giving her a half-smile.  They stared intently at the fire, not even jumping when a log settled, sending up blinding sparks.  The only noise was an absently ticking clock.

"What time is it?" asked Ginny in a near-whisper.

"About midnight."

"We should go to bed."

"Probably."

But neither of them moved.

"Here," said Harry at last, "you dropped your book."

He could still feel the brush of her fingertips on his palm.

The End.


End file.
